“I cut off his right hand pinky with his own rusty bolt cutter. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. “You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said. Ann Veronica jumped up to get her the cardtable. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. Until now none of her prayers had ever been answered. It was still possible the child might be in safety. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. The thought made her exquisitely happy. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. But a little daughter is one thing and a daughter quite another.
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